My daughter recently turned 21. A milestone birthday so it was extra special. But she was away at university so I decided to send her a cake. After much deliberation a decadent chocolatey cake with the works was selected. It had to feed some 40-50 of her friends. And the warden, guards and helpers. I selected the delivery date, filled out the address, paid for it with my card and it was done. I shut the laptop with a satisfied smile.
A few seconds later, an unfamiliar number flashed on my phone. Normally I don’t pick up calls from strange numbers. There are all manner of scams floating around but something told me it might be the cake shop. So I swiped it and said hello hesitantly.
“Madam, do you want a massage?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
“How dare you!” I bristled with rage. I get my fair share of dating and massage service adverts but a phone call seemed downright audacious.
I couldn’t bang the phone down (it’s a new phone and I can’t risk damaging it) so I disconnected and flung the phone down angrily on my bed.
A few seconds later, the same number flashed again. I picked it up intending to scream blue murder.
“Madam, the line got disconnected. Do you want a massage on your cake or not?”
How on earth did the man know I had ordered a cake? They say someone is always listening but this was taking the conspiracy theory too far.
“What do you mean?” I croaked in fear.
“You just ordered a cake from our shop Madamji,” the voice offered cheerfully. “Do you want a massage on that?”
This wasn’t a dodgy dark web operation at all. Just the man from the cake shop who wanted to know if I wanted a special “message” on the cake. In my hurry to get things done, I had forgotten to write a message for the birthday girl.
“I don’t want a massage on the cake, thank you very much, but you can write Happy Birthday Precious,” I said, trying to blot out images of a cake fuelled massage orgy from my head.
My daughter got her cake and her message.
And I put my imagination to rest.
